


Always Darkest Before the Dawn

by MechBull



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechBull/pseuds/MechBull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3x05 Fix-It Fic.</p><p>Warning: Positive treatment of Will and Will/(&)Simmons, if you don’t want anything to do with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Darkest Before the Dawn

He used to look at her like she was the sun. Like her warmth and, if it wasn’t too narcissistic to say, her beauty gave him life. Like she could blind him and burn him up if he got too close.

Now he hardly ever looked at her at all.

Not to say he avoided her. They worked together now more than they had during all those months between Hydra and the monolith. They had a common purpose and a shared secret and the science that had always bonded them. But he looked at her to ask for supplies or to make sure she understood what he was explaining or because she had flat-out demanded his attention. And then he’d look away. 

Jemma had thought the guilt that gnawed at her back when she’d lied to him and left for Hydra was the worst she’d ever experienced. That was nothing compared to this. All she felt was guilt and fear and confusion and the unrelenting nausea that reminded her again and again that this would never be over, that they could never heal, as long as Will was stuck over there.

What if they couldn’t figure it out? What if they couldn’t rescue him?

What if this was how she and Fitz would be forever?

**

The words clawed at his throat all the time.

_You’re my best friend in the whole world. You’re more than that. I don’t care about him; I don’t care if we’re never anything more than what we always have been. I don’t care; I don’t care; I don’t care. You’re alive and you’re back._

_But why? Why did you give up? Why didn’t you have faith in me? How long did it take you to forget about me?_

_Why can’t you love me like I love you?_

The worst days were when they’d make breakthroughs. When things happened so fast and made so much sense and he actually got swept up in it, forgetting that every problem they solved together – the way they had solved every problem they ever faced – brought him one step closer to losing even this small part of her he had now, to no longer even being able to pretend he had her to himself. It was during those moments of breakthrough, when the science and the discovery practically hummed in the ever smaller space between them and she’d smile up at him with so much happiness and hope, that he knew he would dash himself against sharp rocks again and again, cutting himself until he bled and sacrificing every last shred of sanity just to see her happy and healthy and whole. 

Even before he knew that what he felt for her was romantic love, he would have given up everything, given up his whole life, for her. His first, best friend. His soulmate in the truest, purest sense of the word. But he wasn’t a goddamn saint, and it _hurt_ to feel so overwhelmingly powerless, so rejected. It _hurt_ to know that he would never be good enough for her, never be what she wanted, never be who she chose. He should be used to that feeling by now; his father had first introduced him to that pain years ago, after all. 

But what good would it do to rage, to yell, to try and make her feel one iota of the suffering he felt? It wouldn’t do any good at all. And he knew her well enough to know that her tears and her near-constant distress couldn’t even begin to convey how Will wasn’t the only reason she was so upset, how genuinely dismayed she was about Fitz himself and what might have been between them if only, if only. So, he’d help her because why should they both be miserable? She was his friend first, and he didn’t want that for her.

**

It was Bobbi who figured it out first.

“You’re still trying to get back, aren’t you?” she asked one afternoon, when it was just the two of them in the lab. “Whatever you told Fitz, he didn’t talk you out of it. He’s helping you.”

Jemma couldn’t answer. Her throat closed up and she could feel herself choking on the sand of that horrible planet swirling around her, blinding her and separating her from Fitz, nearly keeping her trapped there as they reached desperately out for each other. She never wanted to go back. She had to go back. 

“And there’s…something wrong,” Bobbi pressed. “I figured you two would be – I don’t know, Jemma. I know you’re still recovering and I know how hard that is, but…something’s wrong.”

“Everything’s wrong,” Jemma admitted in a whisper.

“What happened? What’s – is there something I can do? I want you to be happy.”

“No,” she said, fighting tears. “No. There’s nothing. And I know I’ll never be truly happy as long as he’s still…oh, God.”

But Bobbi wasn’t looking at her anymore; she was looking over Jemma’s shoulder, and she looked devastated and horrified. Jemma heard the sound of the lab door closing, and she didn’t need to turn around to know who had just overheard her and left again. She had no chance of stopping the sobs that racked through her. 

“There’s someone else on the planet, isn’t there? Another survivor?”

The only thing Jemma could do was nod. And when Bobbi muttered _oh crap_ and pulled her into a hug, she just cried harder.

**

When May and Hunter came back, Fitz almost felt relieved. It was a strange and welcome change of pace that he and Jemma weren’t the members of the team most in conflict with each other. Not that, of course, he was happy for the reason of their falling out; Andrew was a good man and he hadn’t deserved that, even if Fitz couldn’t disagree with Hunter’s choice and frankly only regretted that he hadn’t been successful.

He found himself sitting with May a lot, both of them quiet and staring off into nothing, and he hoped she was as oddly comforted by it as he was. She hadn’t realized at first, though, that they were both in mourning. In fact, when they first got back and May hugged Jemma, she gave her a rare beaming smile and sincerely told her how happy she was that Jemma was home safe. And then she’d said “Not as happy as Fitz, I’m sure. I bet he’s still floating somewhere around cloud nine.” It was and it wasn’t true, and the awkwardness descended fast. 

It had been just as awkward when Hunter came around later, after he had been to see Bobbi and Coulson, and clapped Fitz on the shoulder. “Beers later?” he had asked, before winking bawdily at Jemma and adding, “If you can tear yourself away from this one long enough.”

But they both had figured out the truth fast, Hunter with Bobbi’s apparent explanation and May who never seemed to need an explanation.

**

Jemma woke up, heart pounding and breath coming out uneven and fast. She looked around for the danger only to realize there was none. It had been a nightmare, her brain supplying her with all sorts of half-remembered, half-created scenarios. She had some vague sense that it had to do with Will and Fitz and the planet and the evil on it and death and being forever stuck in this limbo they were in.

She looked around the room, shaking slightly, and she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep again, not in that dark, lonely, too large, too quiet space. Would it be fair, though, to go where she wanted to, to ask for the comfort she craved, to feel his arms around her again after so long? She hated the thought of putting him in that spot and hurting him again.

She hated the thought of spending one more second apart from him even more. 

She crawled off the bed and snuck out of her room, hopping across the cold floor to knock a quick rap on his door. When it opened, he stared at her, curious and wary and painfully hopeful. She forgot for a moment what she had planned to say.

She didn’t need to say anything. He closed his eyes and swallowed, then stepped away from the door and tilted his head. Jemma hurried into the bedroom, practically diving into his bed. But any closeness she had hoped for never came; he lay down stiffly and turned away from her, his arms wrapped around his stomach. 

When she woke up in the morning, though, those same arms were wrapped around her. Jemma blinked her eyes open first and contrary to all expectation did not recoil in fear or surprise when she realized she wasn’t alone. His arms around her felt nothing like a trap. She didn’t remember the last time she had slept so well, or the last time Fitz’ face had looked so calm and soft, or the last time she didn’t feel any suffocating pressure and heartache lacing their every interaction. Jemma lifted a trembling hand to his face, wishing she could just lean in and press her lips to his, wishing it could be so simple and easy after all to finally have what she – 

He woke then, sniffing sharply and seeming confused when his eyes locked on hers. And then his eyes dropped to her lips, and Jemma couldn’t hold back. She curled into him, kissing him with heady urgency. He kissed her back, matching her relieved passion, gripping her shoulder with one hand, pulling her closer and pushing her away simultaneously. For one too-brief moment, Jemma forgot everything but the man in front of her – well, now on top of her, with his hips pressing into hers and his hand sliding down to squeeze at her thigh and pull her even closer.

He broke the kiss then, burying his head in the dark groove by Jemma’s neck, sobbing once before he wrested control. She panted heavily, trying not to cry herself.

“Please don’t do this to me,” he begged in a whisper just loud enough for her to hear. “Please. I can’t take this; I’m only human.” 

“Fitz,” she gasped, needing him to understand what she couldn’t figure out how to explain, wondering whether they ever really were as telepathic as so many people had claimed.

But he simply pushed up and away, hurrying off the bed and out of the room without a backward glance.

**

It was months after his moment of weakness – when he woke up and she was right there in front of him and he had to see if she was real or just a heartbreakingly realistic dream – before he suddenly realized things were getting better. It almost didn’t seem possible that he could be in the same room as her without feeling like his heart was being ripped from his chest. That they could work together, on the portal as well as various S.H.I.E.L.D. projects, without any sort of careful, uncomfortable control over their words and actions. Everyone knew at that point and frankly Fitz was just glad that enough time had passed for the pitying glances to be few and far between.

Jemma still had an almost single-minded focus to figure out the monolith and rescue Will, but she seemed more and more tethered to earth these days as well. Fitz still had a tendency to battle against jealousy and anger, but he felt more and more accepting. As Jemma recovered and her dependency on him lessened, he felt free of the yoke of his love for her. It felt simpler again, less dreadfully destructive to everyone around him and perhaps most of all to himself. 

It was Jemma’s birthday, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her smile and laugh so much. The party they threw for her was probably the most honest celebration the team had experienced in years; they all seemed to recognize that there had been a rebirth of sorts for her and it was a miracle they were able to celebrate it at all. Fitz was pretty sure he was the only one who knew why she kept fingering the edge of her phone so much, who understood some part of her was remembering the other birthday celebration she had clung to in hope. Jemma herself didn’t even seem to notice she was doing it. 

What he couldn’t understand was the look she gave him, the way she held his gaze and seemed so hopeful, before closing her eyes and mouthing something and blowing out the candles. But it felt like his own wish had come true when she sat next to him later and leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. 

“We’re going to be OK,” she murmured. “Aren’t we?”

“We’re going to be better than that,” he confirmed.

“Just as soon as we figure it out,” she added, and it didn’t even hurt that time.

**

It was surprisingly simple, in the end, and Jemma was still not quite certain how everything had happened. But it did, and she sat on one side of the glass wall, watching a sedated Will sleep. He had been so elated to be rescued, yet so distracted by everything in the world that was as alien to him now as the one he had spent so many long years on. Jemma knew he would possibly need even longer to recover than she had, and she vowed to herself to help him in any way she could. She’d start by being there when he woke up.

She ran her hands briskly over her bare arms, feeling chilled to the bone, like she was back there and desperate for the sun. And then she shook her head at herself and her imagination. It was always cold at night in the lab and – and a blanket was draped over her shoulders. Jemma twisted in surprise, looking up at Fitz even as she grabbed the edges and pulled them tighter around herself. He placed a steaming mug of tea on the table next to her and then glanced at her. 

“Are you OK?”

Jemma nodded.

“Do you want me to wait with you?”

After a brief moment of hesitation, she shook her head.

“OK,” he agreed easily. “But call if you need anything.”

He leaned closer then, kissing the top of her forehead. Jemma closed her eyes and held her breath at the contact. Too soon, he was gone, the door closing behind him as he disappeared from sight. She stared after him anyway.

“So that was Fitz?”

Jemma faced forward, gasping in surprise. 

“You’re awake! How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Will responded. “Sore. Hungry. And the gravity feels weird.”

“It’s going to for a while,” Jemma informed him apologetically. She stood, gathering the blanket up in bunches so she could walk over to the window of the quarantine room. “It’s going to take quite some time to feel normal, but I’ll be here to help you. We all will.”

“How long has it been? Since you got back?”

“Months, I’m afraid. Nearly a year. The portal was damaged and it took Fitz and me ages to figure out how to fix it.”

Will pushed himself up and stood up from the cot. He walked closer to the wall separating them and gave her a small, strangely knowing smile.

“Mm-hmm. I suspect you were too busy doing other things for a while.”

Jemma shook her head, blushing. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I might not be a genius, Professor, but I’m not an idiot either.”

Jemma sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head again. “I couldn’t. Not when – the only thing I could think of was rescuing you.” She took a deep breath and looked at him again. “We both were brutally honest with each other, especially when we thought we’d be there forever. We both knew exactly what was and wasn’t between us and why things happened the way they did. But that didn’t mean I could just leave you behind. We went through a lot together, and we have a bond that nothing will break, Will, you know that.”

Will nodded, giving her a soft smile. “I do know that. And I know that in those last seconds we had together, when your hope came back and it wasn’t naïve after all, all that mattered was getting you home to Fitz. I would have died there happily in exchange. You didn’t have to come back for me, and you didn’t have to sacrifice any more time with him. I mean, I’m really glad you _did_ , but...”

Jemma laughed. “I’m glad I did too.”

“Yeah, so. I have a feeling I’m going to be stuck in here for a while, while you poke and prod me to your heart’s content and to your Director Coulson’s satisfaction. I’m not going anywhere, so stop wasting time and stop hiding behind me or waiting for my permission or whatever you’ve been doing.”

Jemma looked off to the side, wincing slightly. “I’m…scared. I’m not sure – things have changed, we’ve both changed and I don’t – ”

“I’ve seen you scared, Jemma, but never as scared as you were of losing him and never so scared that the thought of him didn’t give you courage and hope again. You’ve been out of that hellhole for months now; don’t you think it’s time to finally escape it?”

Jemma smiled and licked her lips. She breathed in, then nodded, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of the tears. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Thanks, Will. For everything.”

“Likewise.”

**

The soft knock on his door surprised him, especially because it was Jemma’s particular rhythm. Fitz stared at the door, not quite believing he had actually heard it, wondering if he had hallucinated it, a product of how wide awake he felt after the adrenaline of the rescue attempt that night or the punch-drunk feeling he had due to the late-early hour or the happy ache of regret and relief that everything had worked out the way it had.

And then she knocked again.

He stood, stepped to the door and pulled it open slowly. She smiled at him.

“Jemma, what – ”

“Come on,” she interrupted, grabbing hold of his hand with one of her own. In the other, she held a bag but Fitz couldn’t see the contents.

She began to pull him down the corridor. In his confusion, Fitz couldn’t help but resist, so she just tugged harder.

“We don’t have much time, come on.”

“Jemma? I don’t – why aren’t – ?”

“Shh. Less talking, more walking, Agent Fitz.” 

Fitz’ confusion was overwhelming, especially when she led him to the roof. She dropped his hand and knelt to reach into her bag. She pulled out the blanket he had brought her earlier and spread it out on the ground. She crawled onto it, and then looked up at him, sighing at his paralysis.

“Sit, Fitz.”

He dropped to the ground, obeying immediately. “Jemma, I – ?”

She ignored him, reaching into the bag again and pulling out two wine glasses and a bottle. She poured them both perhaps a little too much and handed him one of the glasses. 

“I want to make a toast,” she said, her voice shaking.

Fitz narrowed his eyes at her, still completely perplexed, and then he nodded. He held his glass out somewhat inelegantly and waited. Jemma swallowed and dropped her eyes from his.

“I knew I’d never be truly happy as long as Will was over there,” she began in a near-whisper.

Fitz ducked his head, breathing out sharply and feeling all the pain he thought he was over.

“I know,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to – it’s OK, I – ”

Jemma reached her free hand out and gripped his. 

“After everything he did for me, I couldn’t just leave him. The guilt of having everything I wanted and fought for and dreamed about for so long while he was alone and possibly dying was too much to bear. I can’t thank you enough, Fitz, for helping me rescue him.”

He stared at her, some part of him daring to feel increasingly hopeful. He struggled for a response, then said, “Of course, Jemma. I would do anything for you but – what do you mean – I…”

“I never knew how to explain it, Fitz. I never knew how to put it into words. I think, for a long time, I was confused and I thought that the desperation I felt meant I really did want something else from him, something besides the companionship and – and consolation we both knew it only ever was. All I knew was nothing felt right, I didn’t feel truly home, and I didn’t know how to reconcile that while everything was so uncertain.”

“And now?” Fitz asked, breaking off to clear his throat. 

Jemma looked down and watched her own movements as she clinked her glass against his. “Now…to you, Fitz, and to the sunrise I can finally watch with the man I love. If he’ll have me.”

Fitz faltered for a brief moment, and then he very carefully, very slowly took the glass out of her hand and put both it and his own aside. Leaning forward, he then placed his hands on both her cheeks and drew her into a kiss. 

They ended up missing the sunrise after all.


End file.
